Vilas removes a clear plastic bag from the larger black one and places it in front of us. Dad looks away. I lean over. Inside is a short-sleeved polyester dress, dirty and degraded. I can see that it used to be bottle green with a thin white stripe and a white Peter Pan collar, now badly stained with brown blotches.
‘I’ve been informed this was the standard summer dress at Joseph Amberley Girls School from 1994 to 2001,’ he says.
‘I had the same dress,’ I say.
Dad’s grip on my hand tightens.
‘Can you see anything that indicates this belonged specifically to Edie?’
Dad still won’t look.
‘I can’t see the size,’ I say.
‘It’s a medium,’ Vilas says.
‘Lots of girls would have been a medium. Lots of girls would have worn that uniform.’
Vilas’s face softens. Perhaps he’s human, after all.
‘This uniform was found wrapped round the remains of the girl found in the reservoir. Her height and age match Edie’s and forensics estimate they’ve been down there for around two decades.’
I push the bag away. Vilas waits a moment before placing another, smaller bag on the table.
‘Could you look at something else for me?’ he asks.
The contents are too small to see clearly. I lean down so that my nose nearly touches the plastic. A silver chain lies flat against the table surface. Attached to it is a pendant, its once silver wings eroded but still identifiable. I raise my left wrist. A tiny matching pendant swings round on the chain of my bracelet.
‘It was a set?’ Vilas says. ‘So this belonged to Edie.’
The room goes very cold and I start to shake. Vilas leans over to examine my bracelet.
‘It’s some sort of bird. What is it, a dove?’
‘A swift,’ I say. ‘It’s a swift.’
Dad makes a strange gasping sound. Mum’s maiden name was Swift. Grandpa Len bought the necklace for her, with a matching bracelet, for her eighteenth birthday. After she died, Edie wore the necklace and I took the bracelet.
‘Is there any chance…’ I trail off.
Vilas takes a deep breath.
‘We’re running dental records and checking DNA, but even before you identified the necklace and dress, we believed this to be Edie.’
I won’t accept what he’s saying. There must be another explanation. I look to Dad. He’s turned away from me, so that I can’t see his face.
He says softly, ‘I knew it was her this time.’ His back rises and falls in silent sobs. I can’t stop shaking.
‘I’m sorry, this must be a terrible shock,’ Vilas says.
The empathy doesn’t reach his eyes. He stands up, places the dress back into the black bag and reaches for the necklace. I put my hand on it.
‘No,’ I say.
Vilas glances at Craven, who leans forwards.
‘Tess,’ Craven says. ‘This is evidence. It will help us find out what happened to Edie. DI Vilas will need to take it with him.’
I let go and fall back on the chair. Vilas picks up the bags. I watch the bulge of Edie’s dress press against the plastic.
‘Was it…’ I hardly dare speak the words. ‘Was it an accident?’
Craven sits back down.
‘All the evidence points away from an accident,’ he says.
I think of the stain on the dress collar, it wasn’t brown originally, it was red, bright red.
‘Edie was wrapped in plastic sheeting and weighted down. There’s little room for ambiguity,’ Vilas says. ‘DS Craven will be assigned as your family liaison officer. Edie’s case is being changed from a missing person to a murder inquiry.’
Edie: September 1993
Caitlin needed two stitches in her top lip. If she hadn’t had a reputation as a bully, Tess would have been suspended. Instead, she was dragged before the headmistress. Edie came as a witness. Mrs Stanton declared it to be ‘six of one and half a dozen of the other’. Tess, Caitlin and Deanne would be given lunchtime detention for the next week and a letter sent to their parents.
‘Make sure you give it to Dad, not Mum,’ Edie whispered as they came out of the head’s office.
*
‘Nice one, Tess,’ Raquel said as they were leaving school. ‘Wish I’d been there.’
Raquel wasn’t the only one who admired Tess. The whole school was happy to hear about Caitlin being taken down, and tiny Tess doing it made it even funnier.
‘Are you coming to Roswell?’ Raquel asked.
Mum had told them to keep away from Roswell Park. Older kids went there to smoke, drink and worse. Besides, they’d got in enough trouble for one day.
‘Valentina said to go round and tell her what our first day was like,’ Edie said.
‘She’s always having you over. Mum says it’s cos she’s no kids of her own. But she never asks me. What do you do there, anyway? You’ll have more fun at Roswell.’
‘She makes cakes for us,’ Tess said as if this explained everything.
Raquel looked at her sideways.
‘Suit yourself.’
*
Valentina must have been looking out for them, because she opened the door before they knocked. Her hair was in its usual chignon and she wore a suede skirt and long boots.
‘Edie, Tess,’ she said and motioned for them to come in. ‘You have to help me eat this gingerbread. I always make too much. Mr Vickers never eats it.’
Edie knew Valentina really made it for them. It was their favourite. She skipped into the house without stopping. Tess hovered at the front door.
‘Don’t you want any, Tess?’ Valentina asked.
‘Maybe we should go and see Dad first,’ Tess said.
‘He won’t miss us,’ Edie answered.
Every day Dad sat in the same chair, smoking the same brand of cigarettes, watching the same programmes. It didn’t matter whether she and Tess were there or not. Tess trudged inside.
The Vickers’ home always seemed so much brighter and larger than their own. It had a small extension at the back, so that the kitchen could fit a large chest freezer, for Valentina’s casseroles and stewed fruit. It was so clean and tidy you wouldn’t think anyone lived there. Only Valentina brought it to life, as she filled the air with baking and Chanel No. 5.
One day, Edie would have a home like this, clean and calm, until she arrived, and she would be Valentina, brightening the rooms with her presence, filling the air with warm spice and perfume. People would call her Edith, not Edie. She wouldn’t have a husband who sat in his armchair smoking all day or one like Mr Vickers who came home, only to start barking complaints the moment he stepped through the door. If she ever married it would be to a man like Uncle Ray, handsome and fun. She could never remember Uncle Ray raising his voice or not wanting to take her to the park or saying no when she wanted something. Why did men like Uncle Ray marry Auntie Becca and women like Valentina marry Mr Vickers?
‘And